To Kill a Eagle
by Enyo14
Summary: This is a mondern-day tale of To Kill a Mocking bird. It consists of the same themes of prejudice, racial injustice, and grwoing up in a hard time. Read inside for a full summary. In this story we follow Lucy through her post-9/11 experience and childhod
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****Eighteen-year-old Lucy lives in New York City with her Uncle Thomas and her older sister Jaime. As she tries to write a book report on the novel **_**To Kill a Mockingbird**_** for her English class, she recalls a time when she was 12-years-old. Lucy's memories soon bring us back to post-9/11, a time of great misery for America, prejudice against certain racial groups, and the hectic world. As Lucy's uncle prepares to defend a young boy who is accused of blowing up a man's diner, she comes to realize the world she lives in, the one she finds so perfect, is far from it. In this story, you'll be taken on journey of prejudice, injustice, love, trust vs. betrayal, and the madness of man, all through the eyes of an innocent child.**

**Here is her story . . .**

***Disclaimer: I don't own anything.***

Stupid Book Project

My own personal experience that compares to that of To Kill a Mockingbird

To Kill a Mockingbird has taught me many things in life, one of them being

The book To Kill a Mockingbird shows that life can bring about many changes

I banged my fist against the table in frustration as I stared at the blank computer screen. A million times I've tried to create an awesome literature paper that I'm sure Ms. Cogan will accept. So far the only thing I've created was two bowls of popcorn, a cup of coffee, and a splitting headache.

Taking another sip of the coffee, I tried typing again, but stopped as I heard a small taping on my window. Leaning over the right, a small bird was just outside my window. Its small beak tapped against the glass as it shook its feathers.

I walked up to it, just looking at it. I didn't want to tap the glass, scared I might scare it away.

It small beady eyes looked up at me. I waved to it, I honestly don't know why. I guess it's the Pocahontas in me. The small bird took one more look at me, and quickly fell away.

I waved good-bye to it. Again, I don't know why. It was so small and cute. What kind of bird was it? It was small, and slivery-gray, with long tail feathers. Oh my God. A mockingbird! It was a mockingbird! A mockingbird at my window, right as I trying to write a stupid report for the book To Kill a Mockingbird. Huh. What are the odds?

Muffled footsteps entered my room. My uncle Thomas joined in me staring out the window.

"I can only imagine what you do at sleepovers," he said.

I playfully slapped his arm. "Ha ha. You're _so_ funny." After another sip of coffee I explained to him the whole mockingbird at my window and book project thing.

He nodded in head in interest. "Perhaps it's a sign."

I gasped sarcastically. "You're right dear uncle!" I fell down to my knees and lifted my arms up. "Oh great ones above, I thank you for bestowing this sign upon me to help me pass English for the semester."

Uncle Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Pass?"

_**Damn!**_

I jumped up quickly to my feet and ran to my computer, which was still blank. Groaning, I put my head on the desk.

Uncle Thomas walked over. He put his hand on my chair and leaned toward the screen. "I'd give it an A minus."

I rolled my eyes. "Not really in the mood. It's due in two days and I don't have jack done."

"Well what do you have to do?" Uncle Thomas asked.

Fishing through my backpack, I found the assignment paper with the requirements on it. "According to this," I said. "I have to write a two to three paper about the novel _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and compare about some elements could compare to that of my own life, whether it be the main elements, like prejudice, or just simple things, like growing up like the main characters."

Uncle Thomas took the paper. He read it over a few times. Then he put the paper down and drummed his fingers on the desk.

Finally he snapped his fingers as an idea finally came to him. "I got it! Write about what you went through when you were twelve. You remember it don't you?"

I gave him a look. "Yeah, but I don't really see how that has anything to do with this book. I mean, that was the year a bunch of no good, bastard terrorists smashes into the Twin Towers."

"Languages."

"Hey let's both admit, when talking about a delicate situation like that, foul language is allowed."

Uncle Thomas just sighed and continued. "Well that year I had that big case with the Saleb boy."

Memories, floods, and floods of memories came back to me as I began to recall the madness that occurred with the trail for Admir Saleb.

I nodded. "Yes I remember it all, but again, what's it got to do with me-"

I didn't even have time to finish talking as Uncle Thomas's watch beeped. Showtime.

"I'm sorry Lucy, I have to go down to the office." He kissed me good-bye on the forehead.

"I'll try to help you when I come back, until then, just remember, remember everything you went through that year." And he was out the door.

I slummed in my chair. _**Hmmm. Remember everything.**_ I closed my eyes trying to see if I could remember precisely. Where to start? I guess I'll start at the beginning, of that day. That day that changes everything . . .

6 years ago . . .

9 Frickin 11, Why Would Someone Do Such a Thing?

I clutched Jaime tight as CBS replayed the footage of a plane crashing into the World Trade Center. We both covered out ears as the screams poured from the building.

Kakali's face was full of horror at the event, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes teary. She clutched at her hijab as bodies fell out of the building. Her mouth was moving, and I heard low mumbling in a language I didn't understand. She was probably saying an Islamic prayer for all the lost souls.

Jaime turned away from the TV as they cut to a clip of hundreds of dead bodies being lined up one after another. I watched as the endless row of the dead traveled down the streets, on and on and on and on and on, until finally I jumped up and squeeze Kakali.

Kakali squeezed me back. She ran my fingers through my shoulder length brown hair.

I looked into her teary eyes with my teary eyes. "Are those people with Allah?" I asked her. I was trying to be like an adult, but the child in me came out instead.

Looking down at me, Kakali nodded. "Yes, Lucy. Allah will welcome them with open arms, with Muhammad at his side." She was trying to be an adult too, but that scared girl in her, the same one that came to this country so fragile and lost five years, was coming out.

Jaime finally grabbed the remote with trembling hands and shut off the TV. Sitting in silence, we all looked at the black TV screen. What we just saw, will never forgotten. Some heartless men hijacked two planes and crashed it into the Twin Towers! Monsters! Soulless creatures! I never witness someone with such a black soul. There were innocent people on those planes. Children! Babies even!

So much anger was getting fueled in me I didn't know what to do with myself. I just buried my face in Kakali's shoulder.

"Where's Uncle Thomas?" Jaime asked.

Kakali sat up straight. "He . . . he went to his office." She didn't say anything after that. None of us did. We all just sat there and waited. For what? For him to come? For him to not? We waited for _something_. We just weren't sure if it would be good or bad.

Five hours later, Uncle Thomas stepped through the door covered in ash and grey as a phantom. I ran to him so quickly I almost knocked him down when I hugged him. Jaime came to hug him too. He squeezed us both tight.

"Thank God you're both okay," he said as he squeezed us tighter.

Finally we couldn't breathe and so we all let go. I looked into Uncle Thomas's emerald eyes. They tired. And sad. And horrified. Yet, they weren't angry. How?

"You were there?" Jaime asked.

Uncle Thomas took a seat on the couch. As he sunk into the cushions, Kakali brought him a glass of water. He drank the entire glass in just a few gulps. He must've been really thirsty.

After thanking Kakali, Uncle Thomas turned back to us. "Yes I was there. When the first plane crash I rushed out of my office to the towers."

"Why would you go there?" I asked. "Didn't you know it was dangerous?"

He nodded. "Yes I completely knew the danger. But how could I just sit in my luxurious office while thousands where injured and dying?"

"But how could you go when you had two nieces waiting for you at home?" Jaime's eyes started to cloud up with tears. "How could you just leave like that? And now even call to tell us you were okay? Didn't you think about what would happen to _us_? Didn't you even care!"

She buried her face in her hands as she sobbed right there in front of us. It was quite a show for me, to see her like this. I hadn't seen her cry like this since she was dumped by her first boyfriend.

Uncle Thomas went to Jaime, putting a comforting arm around her. She hugged him and cried into his shoulder. He patted her back softly.

"I know I should've called," he said in a smooth, gentle voice. "And you're right I wasn;t thinking about you guys when I left. I was thinking about the other nieces that were out there. The daughters, the granddaughters, the sisters, the cousins. I was thinking about the other people that were going to be affect, and how I could help them in this great time of need. I sprinted out of my office. The roads were packed so I didn't drive and again I sprinted towards the site. There were thousands, thousands of people there, covered in grey ash. That was actually all you could really see: Grey and scarlet red. I ran, grabbing as many as I could. Then, something hit me on the head. It was an arm. Then something else it me. A shoe. The sky was raining body parts.

'As I looked up at the sky for more body parts, that's when I noticed the other plane coming in. I was completely unprepared for it. It all happened so fast. The plane hit, there was a boom, screams, then more flying body parts. I was moving at an extremely fast pace, helping the people get out of the streets, but there was too many. It seemed less people were leaving than coming away from the building. That's when it hit me that this is what they wanted. Less than there was. They wanted our fear, our dead, and our weakness. Well I sure as hell wasn't just about to give it to them.

'I stayed there another four hours before I left. Even with my help, the help of hundreds, we weren't even halfway done. On my way back, all I could think of was whether you two were alright."

He hugged us again. "And I'm glad you both are."

That night, Jaime and I fell asleep together in her bed. We shared a rosary together and said a Hail Mary for each soul that was lost, all two thousand-seven hundred fifty-two of them. We didn't mind saying all those prayers. Those people deserved it. They all lost or sacrificed their lives because of the evilness of others. In my opinion, they all deserve one hundred Hail Mary's each.

Once I slipped into sleep, I dreamed of the terrorists who caused all this. I saw them, burning slowly and painfully, like the victims. They were screaming as their flesh melting off them and they just wouldn't die quick enough. Then I heard laughing. It wasn't from them. I turned to see if there was anyone behind me. No one was there. Then I realized, the laughing was coming from me. I laughing a cruel, cold laugh as they slowly died.

I awoke sweating and trembling so much it felt like I was on a vibrating bed. Uncle Thomas came to comfort me right away. Jaime hugged and rocked me in her arms as Uncle Thomas sat beside my bed.

"Am I evil for dreaming this Uncle Thomas?" I was deadly scared of what the answer would be, but I asked it anyway.

Uncle Thomas looked at me for a minute. He took my hand and looked deep into my eyes. "We all have evil in us Lucy. But not all of let it consume our souls. It's the weak, only the weak, that need the power of evil to gain strength. But evil is like a drug Lucy. Once you start using it, you cant stop."


	2. Chapter 2

No Bag Left Unchecked, and Bach

"_**And finally, security at all nationwide airports will be checking more closely at both luggage and personal baggage, for the protection of the people."**_

The fancily dressed security man stepped down from the podium on the TV. Reporters called out questions, but he just kept on walking to the side. Next thing I knew they were playing the national anthem on the TV, for the one millionth time this week.

Jaime jumped to her feet as soon as the music played.

"That's ridiculous!" she shouted.

I looked up to her from my spot on the couch. "Jaime, the country was just attacked by crazed terrorists. Yes I will admit they might be taking it over the extreme a little bit, but still. It's okay to overact, especially in a situation like this."

Jaime's sucked in her breath in anger. "But still, we were the victims! Why must we suffer? It should be _them_ suffering. They did this, not us!"

"Jaime hush, Kakali is right in the kitchen."

"She's an Indian Muslim Lucy. It's not the same a Middle Eastern Muslims. God, you're so narrow-minded."

That did it for me. I jumped up to my feet and looked my older sister (by two years big whoop) straight in the eye.

"Oh, _I'm_ being narrow-minded? Look at you! You want to condemn people who didn't even do anything!"

"I'm talking about the people who blew us up! They should only punish the people who did this, not the ones living in shacks in the desert."

"They are already being punished! They're burning in Hell now for their sins!"

"But there still are others Lucy! Only _some_ died yesterday. There are still hundreds living out there! And yet their sitting in airports changing baby bag for bombs instead of going out there and finding the others! They say America lives for justice. Well is it? Where is America's justice?"

"ENOUGH!"

We both jumped, startled by Uncle Thomas's yelling. He only yells on two occasions: One, when he's really angry. Two, when the Jets loose.

Uncle Thomas looked at both of us. He looked sternly at me, but even more sternly at Jaime. We booth looked down at our shoes.

"Sit." He pointed to the couch. With trembling knees, we went to the couch.

"It's your fault," I whispered to Jaime.

"No, it's yours!"

"Yours!"

"Yours!"

"Yours!"

"Yours!"

"Your-"

We both looked up at Uncle Thomas as he cleared his throat. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked down at the two of us. He gave us the look. Oh no, not the look. My belly lunged.

"Now girls," he said, but was interrupted by Jaime.

"Uncle Thomas, don't you think that the government should be more focused on finding the other men who did this than stupid baggage check?"

He nodded. "Yes I do, but-"

"And we shouldn't punish or hate the people of the same culture just because of a few people sins' right? I mean, you hit child if his brother stole something right?"

Again he nodded at me. "You're right Lucy but if you let me-"

"Then tell Lucy what's right," Jaime said pointing a finger at me.

"Make Jaime see the light," I said also pointing a finger at her.

"Girls!"

Kakali's hissing stopped us both. She shot us a looked with her dark brown eyes, putting a finger to her mouth. "You girls are trying to resolve an argument yet you won't let your uncle get a word in."

Uncle Thomas turned his head and nodded at Kakali. "Thanks Kakali."

Kakali return to the kitchen and we returned to the stare.

Uncle Thomas rubbed his eyes. "Now you both are right, but also wrong."

"Huh?" we both said our mouths' hanging.

He sat down between us on the couch, putting an arm around both us. "Now, Jaime you want the U.S. to go and find the other members of the Al-Qaeda and have them punished, is that right?"

Jaime nodded.

"Well for starters, I highly doubt, with the state we're in, the U.S. can just go and ship out thousands of troops overnight. Not to mention the tension that will between the two nations. Not to mention the large sums of money needed to do it. Jaime you have to see, it's not a one, two, three thing. It takes planning and patience. Something you will eventually will have to learn to use."

That was entirely true. Jaime was terrible when it came to waiting. She got it from our mother, who never seemed to wait on any line at amusement parks (not even at Disneyworld).

Jaime crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. If there's one thing she hated more than waiting, it was having to come to the "startling" realization that she was wrong.

I couldn't help but let out a little smile. It faded as Uncle Thomas turned to me. Now it was Jaime who was smiling.

"As for you little hippie." Uncle Thomas looked directly at me. "You seem to be keeping the peace in this situation, which is a little surprising."

I shrugged. "Eh, I try."

Uncle Thomas was stifling a chuckle. I could see it. "Anyway," he continued. "You have the right idea about not condemning the whole group of people-"

I pointed straight at Jaime. "Ha!"

"But . . ." Uncle Thomas lowered my hand. "First it's not polite to point. And second, this is what I'm talking about; you can't just jump and condemn others who say otherwise. Let them talk, calmly explain their side. You have to listen Lucy." He tugged on my ear. I giggled.

"I do Uncle Thomas. I do listen. Just not to Jaime."

Jaime muttered something I didn't-and probably didn't want to-catch.

Uncle Thomas kissed us both on the head. It seemed, like there was nothing Uncle Thomas couldn't do or say to help us or make us feel better. He walked out of the living room, down the hall, and then we heard the door to his room slowly close.

We looked at each other. After an awkward minute of silence, I out my hand. "Sisters?"

Jaime side-glanced it. Then we slapped. We knuckled touched, and then high-fived. It's our Sister Sake. We made it up after our parents died. Picture it, if you will, like a country signing a peace treaty after a war.

We hugged. Sisterly hugged. Then, as Jaime was about to leave the room, she turned to me. "'Make Jaime see the light'?"

I chuckled. "I'm not goanna lie. I got that line from a movie."

Walking in the halls of my apartment building is fun. Some people leave their doors unlock, in case someone with a problem comes by and needs help.

There are seventeen floors in our building and we live on the thirteenth, the best one. It's basically occupied with old people, some nice, some not, some in wheelchairs. Many of the old ladies bake treats for my sister and me. However, Jaime at the time is going through this "I'm fat" phase, so now I get the treats. Her loss.

Sophia usually made the best cookies. Sophia was an old Trinidadian lady, around fifty-five I think, who lives alone in her apartment. She use to have a bakery downtown, but ever since she hurt her back, her daughter's been running it.

Poor old Sophia gets lonely in her apartment. So I go everyday to cheer her up. I didn't go yesterday, and I haven't seen her, so I was curious to know what she thought of the attacks.

Sophia always kept her door unlocked, so I usually just knock and go in. As I was just about to do that, I heard a sound from her apartment I've never heard before.

A piano. Piano? The only instrument I've ever heard Sophia play was the spoons. I didn't even know she owned a piano.

Opening the door quietly, I poked my head in. Sitting on the couch, a young boy played the electric keyboard vibrantly. It was fancy music. Like something you would hear during dinner on the Titanic.

I walked in, moving towards the couch. The boy was so into his music, he didn't really seem to notice me standing next to the couch.

I started moving my head to the smooth beat. It was kind of like a lullaby, only I wasn't falling asleep.

Finally the boy stopped, moving his hands gracefully off the keyboard. He looked at me and smiled. "Bach."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. "Sorry?"

"That was Bach Minuet in G." He began cracking his knuckles. "I started it yesterday. Still a little rusty, but I just have to practice."

"A little rusty? That sounded perfect!"

He lifted a finger. "Ah yes, to the ear of a listener. Listeners just hear music. Musicians just hear mistakes."

I whistle. "That's deep stuff."

He nodded. "I know." He moved over a little and patted a seat next to him on the couch. I sat next to him. Holding out my hand, I said, "Lucy."

For a second he looked at my hand as if he didn't know what to do with it. Then he took it and shook it. "Jason."

Looking back at his keyboard, he said, "Even though Bach isn't perfect, I've lately been playing this."

The national anthem rang out as he hit the right keys. It was a steady tempo, steady and peaceful. Like the people recovering.

I looked at him. "So how did you end up in Sophia's apartment?"

"She's my grandma." He stopped playing and just looked down at the keyboard. "I'm moving in with her."

"Where're you from?" I asked.

"Philly?"

"Philadelphia Philly?

He nodded.

That's cool. I wonder if he's ever had a Philly-cheese steak? Of course he has. Those things are good (in my opinion).

As Jason continued with the anthem, I suddenly felt an urge to ask him this. "What do you think government should do about the terrorists?"

Jason shrugged as he continued playing. "Personally I'm pro-peace, but in this case, I think maybe they should send someone to talk, before the guns come out. I just hope they don't hurt the people."

I sat up and looked at him. "Really? You think so?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. They didn't do anything, why should they also be punished? You kicked all stray dogs just because one went through your garbage."

I smile and moved closer to him. "Jason, I feel this is the start of a beautiful friendship."


	3. Chapter 3

And So the Prejudice Begins

Eventually, school began for us city kids. 9/11 was all we could talk about at school. Each one of my classes covered different parts of 9/11. In math, we talked about the total number of people who died and how it was effecting their families. In social studies, we talked about the Taliban and Al-Qaeda. In science, we were all talking about how these terrorists managed to cause two entire buildings to crumble like that.

I was actually interested in what my science teacher had to say about that. She said that at first people thought there were bombs in the basement of the building, but as studies show, there were no bombs involved at all. You see what they did was, by crashing the planes into the very top of the buildings, they had managed to drench the entire two buildings in jet fuel, and extremely flammable substance. And so of course, the fire from the plane crash, mingled with the jet fuel, is what caused the building to burn and crash rapidly.

My class was speechless. That was a genius idea. Only an evil genius can come up with an idea like that. I shivered when I heard the name of the evil genius. Osoma Bin Laden. Catchy I'll admit, but the name even sounds evil. It even leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Our teacher says he's been in hiding since the attack. I hope they find him soon. I mean how long could it take to find this man? Like ten years? Hah! Nah, I'm sure they'll find him eventually.

My entire day back to school seemed to consist of endless talk of Bin Laden, 9/11, terrorists, but there was another more stronger topic people were discussing: Muslims.

"Get them out of here!" A girl in my lunch was talking with her friends that day. I was sitting with kids behind her, but couldn't help but overhear.

As I pretended to eat my peanut butter sandwich, I leaned a little back further to hear better.

"How can I sleep at night knowing there are terrorists sleeping right next to me?" she screeched like a little bird. Oh, wait! I know that voice. Anyone who goes to Bill's Diner knows that voice. That was Mary Turner, daughter of Bill Turner, who owned more diners in New York City than a young heiress. In total he had eight, one named after each of his kids and him and his wife. There were the one named after the kids, Shelly's Diner, Oliver's Diner, Morgan's Diner, Phil's Diner, Mary's Diner, and Heather's Diner. Then there was his wife, Rose's Diner, then him, Bill's Diner. Bill's Diner was the most popular one out of all the diners, but he still made money off of the others. Uncle Thomas tells me that man is a snob, and an American Patriot to the extreme. Now I know it's good to express pride for your country, but this man takes it to a whole new level. There are American flags all over his restaurant, along with American food, American music, and for a short period of time, American workers. When the government got involved saying that he was being prejudice against non-Americans or people of non-American decent, he was forced to hire people of-gasp-non-American decent. Ever since them, his patriotism has expanded to another new level, along with his kids' patriotism. Those children were becoming an exact copy of him, as Mary was demonstrating.

"But Mary," one of her friends said. "Those people live here. How could they have possibly planned that?"

Mary stared hard at her friend. "How? How you say? Because they're all planning it! I bet you they're all teaching their children how to make bombs and burn our flag at their cult meeting."

"I don't think Islam is a cult . . ." Her friend stopped talking after another hard stare.

Mary drummed her fingers on the table angrily. Then suddenly her eyes darted across the cafeteria. My blood turned cold when I saw what she was staring at. Sitting alone at a table, with a hijab wrapped tight around her head, was Sameeha Faraj, the only Muslim student at our school. I talked to her once. It was a little hard to understand her with her thick Iraqi accent. Her parents died in a fire when she was six. The poor thing was put in a horrid orphanage where young girls were sold into prostitution to pay the bills. She was never sold, they said she wasn't "pretty enough." However she watched her friends go to and from nights with their clients. Eventually a rich Iraqi tycoon bought the orphanage and was able to make life for the girls a whole lot better. He noticed that Sameeha was an extremely smart girl and sent her to study here in America as a foreign exchange student. Maybe now was the time to make that exchange.

Mary took the pudding cup from her lunch bag and walked over to Sameeha. I froze as I saw Mary walking closer and closer to Sameeha's lonely table.

Sameeha looked up from the book she was reading when she saw Mary. "Hello Mary. Good to see you."

Mary flashed a smile of pearl white teeth. They looked more like shark teeth, and Sameeha was the fish.

"So, Samari," Mary said with a gleaming look in her eye.

"It's Sameeha."

"Yeah yeah, tell immigration, I assume Tuesday was a big day for you."

Sameeha furrowed her brows in confusion. "What? I do not understand. We were attacked that day-"

"We? Who made you part of America?" Mary's yelling caused the whole cafeteria to turn around. Students, teachers, even the lunch lady, were all staring at Mary and Sameeha.

Sameeha sunk in her seat a little as Mary's stare grew intense.

"I don't want to cause trouble," Sameeha said in a small voice.

Mary gritted her teeth. "Oh but you did. You did! You, and your sorry-ass cousins or uncles or husbands or whatever family they were, caused a huge effect on the United States of America."

Sameeha's eyes widened and she shook her head. "No! No! I did nothing! I didn't know anything I swear! And those men weren't related to me at all. I hate them as much as America does! I'm happy they died!"

Mary let out a cold, hard laugh. "Ha! You expect me to believe that bunch of baloney? Where is he?"

"Where's who? Who are you talking about?"

"Osoma Bin Laden! Your master! Where are you hiding him? In your garage? Under your bed? Where you little terrorist?"

The tears started coming up. Sameeha tried to hold them back, but they were flowing. And they wouldn't stop pretty soon she was sobbing. And . . . no one did a thing.

My blood was boiling. How can they all just watch this? This sweet girl was being tormented and picked on, and yet no one moved a muscle. Well I wasn't about to give into peer-pressure.

"Hey!" I jumped up from my seat and walked over to Sameeha's table. I stood next to Sameeha defensively and looked at Mary hard in the eye.

"Excuse me? You're defending her?" Mary acted like she was surprised.

I nodded. "Yeah that's right you wannabe Yankee Doodle! You're picking on Sameeha for doing an evil crime, for being evil. Yet she's far from that. In fact, you wanna see evil? Look in the mirror!"

Mary took a step back, then stepped two steps forward. "How dare you!" She scowled at me. "Traitor. Filthy traitor! When they come after you, then you'll wish you were quiet." She looked back at Sameeha. "Besides, I'm doing what's only fair. She made us explode; now I make her explode!"

It all happened to fast. Mary pulled off the cover of the pudding cup and splashed it into Sameeha's face. Sameeha burst into hysterics and fled from the spot. Meanwhile, the half the cafeteria laughing, including Mary, while the other half was sitting in silence.

Seeing Mary laughing like that, after what she had just done, something inside me just snapped. I raised my hand high in the air, and sent it across Mary's face. Mary let out a piercing scream and grabbed the side of her face.

A teacher came behind me and grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. "Young lady that was completely unnecessary."

"That was unnecessary! Causing an innocent girl into tears like that. Mary had it coming!"

The teacher grabbed her walkie-talkie. "The principal will hear about this."

"Good!" I yelled. "Good tell him about who you just stood aside and watched a poor girl be bullied and humiliated infront of half the school."

The teacher stood there for a minute, looking at me, then to the walkie-talkie. "Oh look at that," she said putting it back. "It's out of battery."


	4. Chapter 4

Is This Really the World I Live In? Well Then it Sucks!

I followed the trail of chocolate pudding all the way to the girls' bathroom. Poor Sameeha was crying her heart out as she cleaned the chocolate from her face and hijab. I guess she didn't notice me coming in because when I knocked on the wall, she turned around and looked like she might scream. Her hands flew to her head and she turned around.

"Please," she said. "Please turn around."

I looked weirdly at her, but shrugged and turned around.

As I heard the water run and the sound her scrubbed paper towel on some sort of cloth, I ask, "Why?"

"Because my hijab isn't on," she answered scrubbing harder.

"What does it matter if I see you without your hijab? I though it only mattered if a man saw you without one?"

She didn't answer back. After a few more minutes of scrubbing, the water stopped. "Okay, you can turn around now."

I turned. The purple hijab with blue designs on it still had brown stains all over it. I don't think those stains will every come out, the memories of today won't.

As she dried her face with paper towels, she said, "Sorry I asked to you turn around. But I feel ashamed if I'm not wearing my hijab around non-Muslims or men."

I held up my hand. "No need to be. I have a Muslim nanny at my house who's like that too."

Sameeha looked up at me with curiosity-filled eyes. "You have a Muslim nanny?"

I nodded. "Yep. She's not as orthodox as an average Muslim, but she still has a deep faith."

Sameeha nodded and went back to washing her face. I felt bad for her. She use to have a decent amount of friends before all this. I saw in the halls talking with them, laughing and gossiping. Now, where are they? Did some leave because, just like Mary, they thought 9/11 was her fault? Or are they scared of her now? Either way, she was alone now. Sad. Really sad.

I walked up to her and handed her another paper towel. "Hey Sameeha, would your guardians or whoever's looking after you, allow you to come over to my house for dinner?"

She looked at me like I just told her I was black. Taking the paper towel, she wiped the final smudge of pudding on her face.

"I . . . I think they might," she said. "I might have to call them."

"There's a payphone downstairs. You can use my coins if you want."

Sameeha looked like she was about to cry. She nodded. Grabbing her bag from the counter, she walked out of the bathroom. Before she left, she turned around and smile a thin smile. "Thank you." And she was gone.

School for the rest of the day was just plain awkward. Word had gotten around of what happened at lunch, now people were either angry or scared of me. Even the teachers were keeping a close eye on me. I couldn't believe this was happening. I thought at least _someone_ would say something to me. But no, no. They all just gave me side glances and continued their reading or whatever. It never struck that this is how people could really act. I have one word for that . . . and I won't say it because then I'll have to pay Uncle Thomas a dollar for swearing.

I waited for Sameeha near her locker ten minutes after the bell. It was when the hallway was practically empty that she finally came. I walked up to her. "What happened? Why are you late?"

She slowly put in her lock combination. "I hid in the bathroom after class and waited until most the kids had left."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She didn't answer right away. After putting away her books and closing her locker she looked at. "The hallways aren't safe for me. People have been bumping into me purposely. One boy knocked down my books and kids started kicking them around. When I showed up late to class and explained what happened, the teacher still marked me down anyway." She bit down on her bottom lip. I could tell she was trying hard not to cry.

I wrapped my arms around her, patting her one the back like a child. We started walking to the corner where Kakali usually picks me up.

"And who's your friend?" Kakali asked when we got into the car.

"Oh sorry." I buckled my seatbelt. "Kakali, this is Sameeha. I invited her to dinner tonight. I hope you don't mind."

Kakali shook her head. "No not at all. Is it alright with her parents?"

Sameeha nodded her head.

The car ride was a silent all the way home. Sameeha sat quietly in the back while I sat in the front with Kakali. Kakali asked the usual questions to me and I said fine to all of them (even though it was far from fine). Looking up in the review mirror to Sameeha, she asked her, "So Sameeha I detect a little accent from you. If you don't mind me asking, where exactly do you come from?"

Sameeha looked down at her hands which were folded on her lap. "Iraq," she said in barely a whisper.

Kakali's eyebrows shot up. "You don't say? My cousin lives there with her husband and children."

Sameeha looked up slightly. "Really?"

"Oh yes. Of course she was born in India like me, but she moved there for her job when she married."

"You're from India?" Sameeha asked, sitting up straight.

Kakali nodded proudly. "Yes I am." She laughed a little. "Faith-wise, I am one hundred percent Muslim. Everything else about me is pure Indian. Like, I took belly dancing when I was younger, went to Indian festivals, sometimes I would even celebrate Indian holidays with my Hindu friends."

Sameeha's eyebrows shot up. "You did that? It didn't interfere with your faith at all?"

"Well it did a little, but not too much. My friends had their beliefs, I had mine. Besides, I liked seeing other cultures other than my own. I never let my religion get in the way of exploring the rest of the world. I think Allah intended on everyone to be different. If not life would be boring don't you think?"

Sameeha nodded sitting back into her seat.

I smiled at Kakali. She was wise, cunning, and smart. I wonder if she too had a day like Sameeha. She was a Muslim after all. Didn't matter if she had a hijab or not. As soon as people heard her name or heard her talk, there would be problems.

Kakali looked up in the review mirror at Sameeha again and furrowed her brows. "Sameeha, what happened to your hijab?"

Sameeha and I froze. We both looked at each other in the review mirror.

"I-I got some food on it at lunch today by accident," Sameeha lied.

An unconvincing look came on Kakali's face but she didn't say anything. "Well, if you want, I help try to get those stains out when we get home," she offered.

Sameeha shook her head. "No it's okay." She bowed a little. "But thank you."

Dinner eventually came. Uncle Thomas didn't mind one bit about Sameeha joining us for dinner.

That night was pasta night, and Sameeha seemed to be enjoying it a lot.

"Do you have pasta at your house?" Jaime asked.

"Sometimes," Sameeha said. "But most of the time my guardians try to cook foods from my home. But we still eat regular American foods. My favorite American food is ice cream. It's so cold a sweet; I could eat it all day."

"Lucky," I said. "I'm lactose intolerant. If I have ice cream all day I wouldn't live to see another."

We all laughed. Kakali continued to bring dishes out. It was a real feast we were having. Kakali had made us penne, Angel's hair, shells, and regular macaroni, with sides of Alfredo, pasta sauce, and butter.

"Just a few more minutes," Kakali said. "The lasagna is not quite ready yet."

Uncle Thomas nodded. "That's fine Kakali." He turned to Sameeha. "So Sameeha, tell me. How are you enjoying your time in America?"

Sameeha was quite for a while. I clutched my napkin as she continued looking at her empty plate. "I love it," she finally answered, with a small smile. "Even though the culture here is different than in my home country, there is still more opportunity. And, I think there's more opportunity here than in Iraq because there's more freedom. Not many people in my old home have opportunities to become doctors or lawyers or scientists."

Uncle Thomas nodded. "Now, as a girl, would you be offered the same opportunities here in your old home?"

Sameeha shrugged. "I'm not too sure. Although some places are becoming more liberal, others are still keeping to tradition, tradition that includes separating women from society. That's why I came here to do my studies. I hope to go to college and become a Pediatrician."

Uncle Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Really? Why?"

"Children in Iraq suffer from poor nutrition and health. I hope to treat those children, and maybe even lead a reform to help rural children in the country area."

The three of us stared at her. What an amazing young girl! She came here to help those in her country. And she was so intelligent too. How could anyone in our school possibly treat her bad? It's just wrong.

Kakali came out with the lasagna. I licked my lips. I don't know what Kakali puts in that lasagna, but it was to die for.

Kakali served us each a piece. Before we could start eating, Sameeha bowed her head. "Bismillah ar-Rahman, ar-Raheem. Al humdu lil Allahil lazi at'amanaa wasaqaana waja'alana minal muslimeen."

She then began eating. So did Jaime and Uncle Thomas. I was the only one sitting there with their mouth open. "Okay," I said. "What-what just happened here?"

Uncle Thomas looked at me. "Lucy."

"No, I'm just asking. Because I just heard a sentence with words surrounded by the word Allah. What was it a prayer?"

Sameeha nodded. "Yes. It's was like a-how would you say?-prayer of thanksgiving that Muslims say before we eat. What I said was, 'In the name of God, Most Gracias. Thank you, oh Allah for feeding us and making us amongst the believers."

I looked at her in amusement. How interesting. A Muslim thanksgiving prayer. I wonder if Kakali says that prayer too? She always eats in the kitchen so I wouldn't really know.

As a treat, while we were eating dinner, Kakali went out and bought ice cream for Sameeha. Then afterwards, when Sameeha's guardian, a nice woman named Mrs. Spencer, came to pick her up, Kakali gave something to Sameeha in a little bag.

When Sameeha opened the bag, there was a beautiful golden silk hijab in it. Sameeha smile more widely than I have ever seen her smile.

"Thank you!" she said. "Thank you so much! But I couldn't accept."

She handed in back to Kakali, but Kakali held up her hands and shook her head. "No it's okay. I have other hijabs, and this has out grown me anyway." She smiled at Sameeha. "You'll look like a flower in it."

Sameeha left with a smile on her face, a new hijab on her head, and my phone number written down on a paper in her pocket.

"She said she wanted to see a movie with me on Saturday," I told Uncle Thomas as I was getting ready for bed.

He smiled. "That's nice. I'm sure you'll both enjoy yourself."

Before I went to my room, Uncle Thomas stopped. "Now tell me, what really happened in school today?"

I sighed and explained to him everything, from Mary Turner, to the pudding, to the teacher.

Uncle Thomas hung his head in dismay and shook his head. "Okay, thank you Lucy. You did the right thing today."

I lifted an eyebrow. "Even slap Mary Turner?"

"Okay, maybe you could've lived without that, but I'm very proud you stood up for Sameeha, and stood up against that teacher." He tickled my chin. "My little liberalist."

I giggled. Before I head off, I looked up to Uncle Thomas. "Uncle Thomas?"

He looked at me. "Yes?"

"I never knew there were people like that in the world. I never knew they were really there."

Uncle Thomas sighed. "Unfortunately Lucy, that's the bad part about being a child. You think the world and it's people are perfect. Truth is, it's not even close."


End file.
